


Sonata No.9

by seaofblue



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Orphanage, Angst, Classical Music, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, but jeonghan wants None of That™, seungcheol tries his best to help, violinst jeonghan is just something i needed okay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-29
Updated: 2017-04-07
Packaged: 2018-09-20 13:58:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9494612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seaofblue/pseuds/seaofblue
Summary: The story of how Jeonghan - the little violin boy,with his bruised cheeks and broken dreams,fell in love with Seungcheol - the only other boy that cared,who read beneath his sheets at midnight,and swore with his paper-cut pinky,"I'll make everything alright."





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the very strange combination of 'Your Lie in April' and 'The Karate Kid', I present to you 'Sonata No.9'. The general idea for this story actually came to me in the form of a dream, which was quite a surreal experience; its not everyday you have a dream in text form...  
> The story is named after Beethoven's 'Kreutzer' Sonata No.9 in A major, which I'm sure someone will recognize as the piece Kaori plays in 'Your Lie in April'. It's a really beautiful piece, I highly recommend you listen to it.
> 
> As always,  
> thanks for reading xxx

Jeonghan never wished to be special. His talented hands were little more than a burden, just like his pretty face and mild demeanour. It was hard not to hear the way the other children spoke about him; mocking him as they hoped he would receive an extra beating after dinner that night. When Jeonghan was just four, one of the ladies shoved an old violin into his tiny arms. Jeonghan thinks it was the one with the wiry, ash coloured hair and thin pursed lips, the one that always smelled of prunes. She grabbed Jeonghan’s small hands forcing his skinny fingers onto the strings. The violin strings hurt as they dug into the tender flesh on the pads of his fingers, leaving behind angry, red friction burns all over his left hand. Jeonghan knew he didn’t like the violin at all, but he also knew what he liked didn’t matter, so he bit his lip and did as he was told. 

From the violin case the lady produced a bow, slapping it into his other hand. He tried his best not to flinch at the motion. Pushing the bow in his hand onto the strings of the violin, she held a stiff grip on his arm. The woman tugged it back and forth as the resin coated hairs met with the copper strings. The action produced a shrieking, screeching sound Jeonghan was certain he never wanted to listen to again. Then the woman stood up, yanking the hollow instrument from his grasp. “Well done,” she had said, before turning on her heels. He watched her short, plump figure disappear through the large mahogany doors at the back. The children weren’t allowed to go through those doors; Jeonghan often heard the others talking about where they went. Once he overheard a girl say there was a garden out there, but Jeonghan didn’t believe her. They spent all their days indoors, imprisoned by the high walls with dull, floral wallpaper that peeled to reveal the flaky plaster beneath the surface. The adults tried to fix it a couple of times, but their efforts never worked, just like when they tried to fix the leaky pipe in the second-floor bathrooms. 

The middle-aged woman came back the next day—and all the others days after that. Each time she thrust the dusty violin at his tender neck, forcing his hands on the strings once more. By the eighth day, Jeonghan’s hands began to bleed, juicy crimson droplets erupting from his soft skin. A shiver rippled down his spine as he recalled what happened the last time he tried to complain about a wound. He licked the drops from his fingers, wincing at the coppery taste.

With enforced dedication and hard work, Jeonghan’s violin skills improved. Where once lay baby-soft skin on his fingers grew calloused, rough and unfeeling. At the age of ten, they sent Jeonghan to the small theatre downtown with dusty velvet curtains that smelled of damp. The well-to-do couples would gather there late on Saturday and Sunday evenings for their weekly show. Jeonghan was only allowed to play on Friday nights when only a handful of people would attend, but that suited him just fine. Jeonghan hated almost everything about the theatre, from the cheap suit they forced him to wear with the stiff collar that chocked him as he played. Mostly, he hated how small he felt standing alone on the grand expanse of the stage. The only positive aspect of the whole ordeal was that he could be alone. Jeonghan wasn’t important enough to need a man from the academy to supervise him. So long as he earned money and gave it all to them, they couldn’t have cared less what he did. 

There was one other boy there who looked around his own age, but he was taller and broader compared to Jeonghan’s scrawny figure. He would occasionally sit in the theatre as Jeonghan practised, shoulders hunched around a different book each time. Whether he was listening to him play or not Jeonghan couldn't tell, but he kept quiet and left Jeonghan alone, so he wasn’t bothered. 

Seungcheol’s father was the owner of the theatre and while he didn’t exactly like the place, he spent more time there than anywhere else; doing his homework or reading, just to avoid the constant nagging of his prudent mother and over-achieving sister. During the daytime it was fine, when the only people there were his father and the workers. He despised the theatre in the evenings; it became flooded with all the snobbish couples from their town with their garish red lipstick and gelled back hair. Everything about them was fake, Seungcheol thought. He knew only a little about Jeonghan, he would admit, but he dressed and behaved just like them, so that told Seungcheol all he needed to know.

The first time he came to the theatre, Seungcheol had tried to talk to him. The boy stood shorter and smaller than him, but there was something about the way he held himself—eyes focused on a non-existent object almost as if he was looking through you instead of at you—that made Seungcheol seem small and exposed. Jeonghan’s hands hung clasped by his sides, unmoving. Seungcheol tried to be friendly, just like his father taught him. However, the boy’s responses never comprised more than a nod or shake of his head, so what was he supposed to do? Clearly, Seungcheol was beneath him and Jeonghan wasn’t about to waste his breath on him. Seungcheol once tried telling his father he didn’t like Jeonghan, but he only sighed and told him the boy was good for business, because “people love a good sob story”. Seungcheol didn't really understand what he meant. 

It wasn’t until almost a year later that Seungcheol’s opinion of Jeonghan began to change. He was freshly turned eleven and developing a sense of rebellion, which found him wandering through some of the dodgy side streets around their town. There was a heavy rain pouring down, causing his clothes to stick to his skin. It would have probably been wise to go indoors and put on some dry clothes but the whole point of his wandering was to avoid going home, so he let it soak him. As he travelled further, he came across a silhouette that looked incredibly familiar. Jeonghan stood a couple metres in front of him, eyes glued to the ground like usual. A man stood opposite Jeonghan with an ruddy, puffy face and greasy black hair that clung to his bloated face in the rain. The man said something to Jeonghan, but Seungcheol couldn’t hear it over the pouring rain around them. Jeonghan didn’t respond, gaze transfixed on the running stream of rainwater by his tattered shoes; it was then that Seungcheol began to understand that his reasons for disliking the boy may have been unjustified. 

Without warning the man raised his arm, the back of his pale hand colliding with Jeonghan’s rain-soaked cheek. The sound rang out clear despite the rain, resonating in the otherwise empty alleyway. The hand then wrapped it’s way around Jeonghan’s skinny arm, hauling the small boy up the concrete steps and inside the dreary building that had loomed behind them. Seungcheol let out a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding in. His throat felt like sandpaper and his something was lurching deep in the pit of his stomach. After the worst of the sensation died down, he got a better look at the building Jeonghan had been dragged into. It was bland and grey, with small windows and a black door that’s paint was peeling off in little curls. Beside the door, Seungcheol noticed a plaque fastened to the wall. It read: ‘The Alexa Orphan’s Academy, founded in 1967’

Seungcheol never told his father of what he saw that day as that would require revealing he had been wandering in places he shouldn’t. But curiosity killed the cat, and he asked his father about the building a few days later. He told him it was an orphanage: a home for children without families. The concept sounded good, Seungcheol thought, but based on what he had seen he was thankful for the first time in his life he lived with his family. He spent all the Friday morning that followed waiting for Jeonghan to arrive like always, but the sick feeling in his stomach grew with each hour that passed. Jeonghan had never missed a day before, showing up each week without fail, in the black shiny car escorted by the stocky man. Despite Seungcheol’s initial disliking the boy, something changed, and he grew anxious at his disappearance. Nights which he would have once slept soundly through were now being disrupted by frightful dreams of a silent boy with purple bruises and scars etched into his soft milky skin. When he woke, he would hear the snickering of his sister as she mocked his nightmares, his cheeks burning hot from the tears. 

It took two entire weeks for Seungcheol to see Jeonghan again. The shiny black car chugged up to the theatre on a cold Friday morning. Out stepped the man that was always with Jeonghan, his long grey trench coat swaying in the crisp winter breeze. His pudgy hand reached into the shadows inside the car, pulling out Jeonghan from within. The boy looked even skinnier than Seungcheol remembered though he hadn’t thought it was possible. The sight of his sunken cheeks and blue-black dark circles shadowing his bloodshot brown eyes made Seungcheol sick. Jeonghan choked back tears as the man greeted Seungcheol's father with a false smile. The smile was designed to mask the hand which was gripping Jeonghan’s arm, fat fingers digging in to leave red marks on his skin.   
“You know how children can be, I’m sure,” The man forced a laugh, his puffy petulant face steaming with anger.   
The man’s hand gripped Jeonghan’s arm harder, and from where he stood Seungcheol could hear the boy whimper in pain. Without giving it much forethought at all, Seungcheol leapt forward to land a heavy kick to the back of the man’s leg. Using the sudden confusion to his advantage, he latched onto Jeonghan’s arm and ran. 

He sprinted down the concrete streets, hand outstretched behind him. Seungcheol couldn’t help but notice how Jeonghan’s hands felt. By looking at Jeonghan’s face, Seungcheol was expecting to be holding soft, delicate hands, but the fingers interlaced with his own were rough and calloused. The hand was small but strong and weathered, and the feeling caught Seungcheol off guard. He ran through the streets as fast as he could, but they were small and skinny, with legs too short to carry them with significant pace. It was fortunate that the man was rounded and unfit, so he stopped chasing them after they reached a few hundred metre distance. Once they were within a safe distance from the theatre, they slowed to a halt. Seungcheol wasn’t sure where they were. The buildings surrounding them were tall and grey, with shoddy paintwork and trash gathering by the sidewalks, just like every other street in their town. He wasn’t left long to try to figure out their location, as before he had a chance to even speak, Jeonghan ripped his hand out of Seungcheol’s grasp.   
“Don’t ever do that again,” the boy hissed, his body turned away from the now dumbfounded Seungcheol. 

Seungcheol couldn’t believe his ears. He had just taken a risk to try to help Jeonghan, and yet the boy wasn’t showing even an ounce of gratitude. Jeonghan walked away, back in the direction they had just come from.   
“Are you crazy? You can’t go back there now!” Seungcheol darted after him, surprised by how loud his voice sounded in the empty street. He hadn’t meant to sound so angry. His hand reached out towards Jeonghan’s narrow shoulders, trying to turn him around, but the boy recoiled instantly at the contact.   
“Don’t touch me,” said the boy, his voice smaller now. 

Jeonghan was still facing away from Seungcheol, so he couldn’t see his face, but he could see the white puff of steam rising in the cold air as he spoke, disappearing as quickly as it came. Seungcheol wanted to say something, though he didn’t know what, but before he could Jeonghan was jogging down the street away from him, leaving a trail of white fog behind. He wanted to chase after him, but Jeonghan had disappeared into the shadows of the side-streets as if he had never been there to begin with. 

The man was gone by the time Seungcheol returned to the theatre, instead, his father stood by the entrance, arms folded over his chest with a scowl on his face. His father didn’t speak as Seungcheol neared, turning on his heels and walking back inside the theatre. The boy could tell he was about to be in big trouble, but he would be lying if he said he regretted his actions. A little thanks would have been nice though. Following him inside, Seungcheol found his father sitting in the large armchair in the centre of the room. He sat in silence, waiting for Seungcheol to state his reasoning. The man was no fool, and he knew his son well enough to understand that there must have been some justification his son would provide. Seungcheol was reckless, not mindless.   
“I’m sorry,” Seungcheol began, his father providing little response, “I shouldn’t have kicked him, I know. But I couldn’t just sit there and watch…”   
His father released a long, weighted breath, uncrossing his arms as he relaxed into his seat. 

“I’ve seen the man hit him. It isn’t right, Father—he doesn’t deserve that, it’s not fair!”   
His father pat on his knee, signalling Seungcheol to come sit on his lap. The boy did as he was told, glad to have his father there to wipe away the traces of his tears as he sniffled.   
“I’ve seen it too Cheol, and you’re right, it isn’t fair,” he sighed, “But there’s little I can do about it.”   
Seungcheol wasn’t sure he agreed but kept quiet all the same.   
“I need you to promise me you won’t try to interfere again.”   
The boy hesitated, not sure that was a promise he could keep.   
“ _Seungcheol._ ”   
“Okay.” 

It didn’t count if he didn’t say _"_ I promise _"_ , right? 


	2. Chapter 2

The perfect silence of the room was disrupted as a soft knock sounded on the door causing Jeonghan’s brows to furrow. Particles of dust floated above where he lay, staring at the unidentifiable mould that was sprouting on the ceiling. He wasn’t supposed to be here, in the little supply closet at the end of the corridor where they kept the instruments and props. Most people would consider the room a mere shoe-box, but it was the closest thing Jeonghan had to call ‘home’. Mr Choi, the owner of the theatre, had allowed him to use the room to store his violin equipment when he first arrived. Ever since, Jeonghan would disappear for a short while each day he spent here, just to lie and be alone. Back in the Academy, his dorm room was shared with seven other children of varying ages, so opportunities for genuine solitude were scarce. Until this point, nobody had ever visited the room, and he wasn’t important enough for anyone to check where he escaped to. With a huff, he rose from where he lay spread across the icy concrete floor, a strip of too-bright light flooding into the room as he pried the rusty door open.

Although Jeonghan was unsure exactly who’s face he anticipated being at the other side of the door, it was certainly not Seungcheol’s. A shaky breath escaped his lips, as a million different scenarios flooded through his mind. His last encounter with Seungcheol—which was also one of their first—had been less than pleasant. Jeonghan winced at the thought of his words, but resigned the thoughts to the back of his mind with a sigh, knowing his actions were justified. He said what he said, all he could do now is hope Seungcheol would listen to his advice, and maybe that he didn’t hate Jeonghan too.  
“Knew I’d find you in here,” the boy spoke, lips upturned at the sight of Jeonghan’s shocked face. “Come on, you hardly thought I didn’t know where you’re always disappearing off to, did you?”  
“What do _you_  want?” Jeonghan tried his best to seem unaffected by the boy’s presence. Considering the way the slight smug smile faded from Seungcheol’s face, it must have worked.  
The boy sighed, explaining that they needed to go upstairs to speak to his father. Once Seungcheol wasn’t looking, Jeonghan worried his bottom lip between his teeth. Guilt sat in the pit of his stomach. Jeonghan didn’t want to treat Seungcheol so harshly, but he really didn’t have any other choice.

Jeonghan’s heart rate accelerated at Seungcheol’s words, but he stood up to follow behind anyway. The pain in his ankle flared as he climbed up the stairs, but he pushed it to the back of his mind. He had coped with much worse before. The lump in Jeonghan’s throat grew as they reached the entrance to the grand office belonging to Mr Choi, the owner of the theatre. The office was dauntingly empty when they arrived, and Jeonghan felt swamped by the huge oak desk commanding the centre of the room. The air smelt of a musky cologne that only intensified the sick feeling in Jeonghan’s stomach. Seungcheol took a seat in one of the two armchairs sitting in front of the desk, and Jeonghan copied the action.

Without him realising, Jeonghan’s fingers danced across the armrest of the chair, playing out a melody in his mind. From the corner of his eye, he could see Seungcheol’s gaze fixed on him, and he shifted awkwardly in his seat at the attention. He looked up for a moment, meeting Seungcheol’s eye line. The other boy’s stare didn’t falter, and Jeonghan quickly looked away, embarrassed by the sudden eye contact. He cleared his throat, preparing to ask Seungcheol why he had been staring but was interrupted by Mr Choi’s sudden entrance.

The man walked with heavy footsteps, each one creating a low thud that made Jeonghan wince. He stood tall too, towering over the two seated boys in his well tailored two piece suit. The leather chair behind the desk sounded a shrill screech as the man sat down, a weighted sigh escaping his lips. Fine lines were painted across the man’s weathered skin, causing Jeonghan to withhold a gulp and fixed his gaze to a point on the surface of that large oak desk.   
“I am very disappointed in you both,” Mr Choi began, his deep voice filling the room, “Your actions were careless and irresponsible, and they will not go unpunished.” Seungcheol groaned softly beside him, but otherwise, he kept quiet.  
“You two will be responsible for cleaning the theatre after every performance for the next month.”  
“A whole month?” Seungcheol whined. “It gets so messy though, how are just the two of us gonna clean it?”  
Jeonghan’s heart rate skyrocketed as he listened to the way Seungcheol was speaking to his father. He flinched violently as Mr Choi raised his arm, not sure whether to be relieved or anxious when he simply ran a hand through his short, sleek hair. Seungcheol didn’t react at all, which only added to Jeonghan’s confusion. “ _Why isn’t he afraid?_ ” he thought.

The man continued to speak, lecturing them about their misbehaviour, but Jeonghan was barely paying any attention. From the corner of his eye, he stole a glance at Seungcheol. The large armchair swamped him, legs barely reaching the ground. His hair sat in a soft black tuft atop his head, shadowing his soft, round eyes that looked as though they were born to be smiling. Looking at the innocence that misted his features, Jeonghan realised Seungcheol lived a very different life to his own; one he could never dream of.

He knew it was supposed to be a punishment, but Jeonghan was actually rather pleased with the thought of cleaning the theatre. Cleaning was one of the few things he found pleasure in, along with sleeping. Each morning when he woke he would make his bed so the sheets lay without even a trace of a wrinkle, and the cardboard box beneath his bed that held the few clothes he owned was always arranged neatly, the items folded without fault. Jeonghan had walked into Mr Choi’s office anxious, waiting to receive his punishment, and had instead left with a weight removed from his shoulders. The theatre held shows every Friday, Saturday and Sunday, which meant there were now three days a week he was allowed leave the orphanage, even if it was only for a short while. From past experience, Jeonghan knew good fortune like this was likely too good to be true, yet he found pleasure in the thought regardless.

Jeonghan’s practice for the day went by smoothly, albeit the frequent distractions that came in the form of Seungcheol. The boy just wouldn’t stop interrupting Jeonghan’s playing to express his awe and tell him something very unnecessary like “That sounds pretty”, or other vague compliments that Jeonghan could do just fine without. It wasn’t until Jeonghan began to set up for that evening’s performance that Seungcheol left him alone, swapping his perch on the edge of the scuffed stage for one of the plush velvet seats in the audience. Somewhere in the midst of his recital, it occurred to Jeonghan that this was, in fact, the very first-time Seungcheol had watched him perform. The thought sat in his mind for a just second, like a chunk of food stuck in his throat. But a mere second without concentrating was all it took, and his fingers stumbled over the next few notes. As he finally pushed the thought aside he thanked his lucky stars today wasn’t one of the days the Orphanage was monitoring his performance. The last time he was caught making a mistake like that, they locked him in the dark little practice room with his teacher, forcing him to play until he was certain he wouldn’t make such an ‘amateurish error’ ever again. When they eventually did let him out, the sun has risen again and the other children were off getting breakfast. Jeonghan instead hid in the girl's bathroom as he washed the freshly crusted blood from his cheek.

The audience for that day’s performance was small (-perhaps that was why Seungcheol’s presence had bothered him so much?), and fortunately no one present seemed knowledgeable enough to notice his slip up. His hands were shaking by the time he walked off stage, a lump forming somewhere deep in his throat as he spotted Seungcheol’s father waiting for him backstage. The man stood tall and broad, his muscular yet well-fed body towering over Jeonghan’s small, scrawny body. At first, he didn’t say anything, the silence weighing heavy on Jeonghan’s shoulders. Just as the man was about to speak Seungcheol arrived, his soft brown hair standing in little tufts above his lightly freckled cheeks. He skipped across the floor to where Jeonghan stood before turning to address his father.  
“Wasn’t Jeonghan’s performance great?” he grinned.  
Much to Jeonghan’s surprise, Mr Choi simply agreed with a smile—no mention of his glaring error. He gestured towards the boys, implying they should follow him, as he walked out the door and down the narrow corridor until they reached one of the practice rooms behind the theatre. Inside, Jeonghan spotted a cream coloured breakfast-tray sitting on the ground which held two large sandwiches accompanied by a spread of freshly cut fruit and two small glasses of water. Somewhere behind him, he heard Seungcheol muttering about how he was starving and wanted more than just a sandwich, but that was the furthest thought from Jeonghan’s mind.

Offering a curt smile, the older man left them to eat in peace. Seungcheol took a seat on the old rug that lay in the centre of the room beneath the table holding the food. Noticing they way the other boy hovered awkwardly by the doorway; unsure of what he should do. Seungcheol extended a free hand gesturing for the boy to join him on the floor. Jeonghan almost tripped on the edge of the rug as he walked, and a deep red blush stained his soft cheeks. Skinny legs tucked neatly beneath him, he kneeled on the rug, trying his very best not to look at the freckled boy from across the table. Within minutes, Seungcheol had finished his food, stray crumbs dotted along his plump lips, yet Jeonghan has barely half a sandwich eaten. The bread was fresh and soft, stuffed with roast chicken and salad; Jeonghan had never tasted anything like it. He wanted to savour the taste so he wouldn’t forget it, but the groaning pain seated deep within his belly he had learnt to ignore was telling him to do otherwise.  
As if sensing his dilemma, Seungcheol spoke up with a soft chuckle. “Hurry up and eat, we need to start cleaning.”  
He responded with a nod and did as he was told, but it didn’t matter much in the end. Just over two-thirds of the sandwich eaten and Jeonghan was able for no more. Despite how much he wanted to keep eating, his stomach wasn’t used to consuming that much food. Feeling ‘full’ was not something Jeonghan had much experience with but though it was strange, it was definitely a sensation he could get used to.

 

* * *

 

Seungcheol was not a child who misbehaved often (strict parents with high expectations left little room for childish mischief, you see.) but when he did, it was always met with heavy yet fair punishment. His latest ‘escapade’—as his mother’s shrill voice had deemed it—was no exception, yet for the first time in his life, the repercussions of his actions were not enough to deter him from future antics. Concern sat somewhere deep within his heart for the boy sitting across from him, mayonnaise smeared on his top lip that was far too distracting for Seungcheol’s tastes. They had been sitting in that room for nearly fifteen minutes now and as much as he wanted to stay and relax with Jeonghan, he knew the volume of work that was awaiting them, and so upon his direction they made their way to the theatre where Jeonghan’s performance had been held. It was empty now, and Seungcheol’s footsteps echoed through the high ceiling thanks to the silence. Jeonghan hovered awkwardly by the steps leading to the rows of scratched velvet seating.  
“Hold on, I’ll go get us some cleaning supplies. Why don’t you, uh, start picking up some of the trash from the seats?” That sounded much more like a question than he had wished, but he hoped it would do its job. He didn’t want the poor boy to wander like a headless chicken all evening.

He ran to a nearby supply closet, fetched a pair of brooms, and some bags for the trash. Returning to the theatre, he paused in the doorway—Jeonghan was nowhere to be found. It caught him off guard for a moment but he shrugged it off and set to work sweeping the stage. The stage was dusted with a fine layer of white powder beneath where Jeonghan had stood during his performance earlier that evening. He was just about to start sweeping into the dustpan when he felt a soft tap on his shoulder. Barely stopping himself from jumping with shock, he turned to find Jeonghan had been standing on the stage behind him. “ _Where did he come from?_ ” he thought. He hadn’t heard so much as a footstep from the boy, and at last he checked, Jeonghan wasn’t even in the room!   
“—Where were you?” though he had been frightened, Seungcheol was pleased he managed to control his breathing long enough to form a coherent sentence.  
“I was cleaning over by the seats like you asked…”   
Every time the boy spoke Seungcheol was caught by surprise at the high, nasally tone of the younger’s voice. He spoke in little more than a whisper, but it was soft and soothing all the same. In his hand, he clutched a wrapper of some sorts—probably leftover snacks from the show—and held it out to show Seungcheol.  
“I found this on one of the seats. What should I do with it?”  
“I got some bags for the trash, just put it in there with the rest of the stuff.”  
Seungcheol was going to turn back to his own work, but the boy in front of him stood frozen in place.  
“What is it?” he asked.  
“Um…” Jeonghan’s eyes were fixed on the ground like usual as he worried his bottom lip between his teeth. “It’s—, Do you always throw away food like this?”  
“Well, if it’s leftovers then yeah. Don’t you?”

Jeonghan didn’t answer the question. Instead, he left Seungcheol alone as he went to place the food in the bin. Watching him as he walked away, Seungcheol took notice of Jeonghan’s light, almost silent footsteps. The pair didn’t talk much, each working away quietly on their own. But that wasn’t what Seungcheol wanted. At that time, he couldn’t put his finger on exactly what, yet something about the boy interested him. At first, he assumed it was guilt, or maybe just compassion but it didn’t seem that simple in his eyes. There was so little about the boy he knew that for every word the younger spoke Seungcheol wanted ten more. Jeonghan however, seemed to want little to do with Seungcheol at all. His responses were short and un-sugarcoated; Seungcheol just couldn’t keep a conversation going.  
“Let’s take a break,” he sighed.  
Jeonghan turned to face him, the dim lighting of the theatre highlighting his sunken cheeks. There was hesitation in his eyes, and Seungcheol could guess why.  
“C’mon, don’t your feet hurt? Mine hurt like hell.”  
The boy shrugged in response, but took a seat beside Seungcheol on the edge of the stage (not too close, mind you), his skinny legs dangling off the edge just like Seungcheol’s.

“You wanna play a game?” Seungcheol’s question was met with a shake of Jeonghan’s head, but he persisted regardless. “How about… I say a word, then you say the first thing that comes to mind. Then you pick a word and we repeat!”  
“Doesn’t sound like much fun…” the boy muttered.  
“It will be. Here, I’ll start; what about ‘violin’?”  
Instantly he could see the boy tense beside him.   
“Don’t think too much, Jeonghan. Just say the first thing you think of.”  
A silence remained for a minute, but slowly Jeonghan began to relax. His muscles were still tense and his posture far too upright, but it was a start.  
“…Work.”  
His response was nothing special, but Seungcheol was glad he at least got him to play along. There was plenty of time to dig deeper later.  
“Okay, now you pick.”  
“Theatre.”  
He thought for a moment, before settling on a single word, “Dusty”.

A tiny giggle escaped Jeonghan’s lips, voice quiet and airy. He stopped as soon as he begun, but Seungcheol would still consider it to be an achievement. He knew it would take time for the boy to be comfortable long enough to befriend him—hell Seungcheol really wasn’t sure the other even wanted a friend, given the rather hostile response he received last time he tried to help. Still, it’s worth a shot, he figured. He spent a moment contemplating his next move; he wanted to push further, see what he could get out of the boy, but Jeonghan had been hesitant to even play along, so perhaps he should play it safe and not ask for anything _too_ personal for now.  
“Alright next word, ‘Seungcheol,” he grinned exposing his front teeth.  
Jeonghan offered a dubious glance his way but answered none the less. “…Nosey.”  
That shut Seungcheol up.

They continued their very pointless game for some time, each offering unimportant words to receive equally inconsequential replies. It was progress, Seungcheol knew that. Jeonghan was talking to him, albeit in the form of mere single word responses. But Seungcheol was not used to having to censor himself or thinking much before he did anything, to be frank. And so by the time the next word had escaped his mouth, it was already too late.  
“‘Family’?”  
Hurt flashed across Jeonghan’s eyes, but as soon as it had appeared it was gone, replaced by anger and hostility. His gaze narrowed and suddenly he sat more upright and broader than he had before. Seungcheol’s mouth running dry in panic and he unconsciously licked his chapped lips. He had misstepped and he knew it, but it was too late.   
“Let’s just get back to work,” he sighed. The apologetic smile he offered did nothing to lesson the furrow of Jeonghan’s brow or soften his glare.

A thud sounded throughout the theatre as Seungcheol hopped off the stage, making sure to bend his knees so it wouldn’t hurt; a trick he had learnt a couple years ago. Jeonghan didn’t speak, but he followed suit. Tension sat in the air between them like a heavy weight bearing down on Seungcheol’s shoulders and it was making it difficult for him to think straight. The guilty, sick feeling in his stomach wasn’t helping either. They went there separate ways, for the most part, each focusing on the tasks at hand as they did their best to ignore the other’s presence. Seungcheol tried to steal glances at the other in a rather futile attempt to judge the situation. If he didn’t know better, he would have thought Jeonghan was fine by the unchanging stoic expression he wore. But Seungcheol did know better, and that was certainly not the case. He wanted to apologise, to tell him he hadn’t meant to pry, but he thought that given what had caused his predicament, it might be better to say nothing at all than to say the wrong thing.

He took to organising the small admissions booth located just outside the main theatre. It was messy in there; stray wrappers and papers everywhere, and there was a faint stench of sweat there too, but James, the acne ridden teen that manned the booth, let Seungcheol sneak some of the fancy salted popcorn they sold when his dad wasn’t looking, so he wasn’t going to complain. There was probably some sort of system he should be following, he thought, shoving the pile of blank admission cards into an unlabelled box. It was unlikely James ever followed that system though, so he’d probably be okay. Through the small, dusty window on the one exterior wall of the booth, Seungcheol could see that the sun was beginning to set, the warm colours melting together in the sky. Dinner would surely be ready soon, and Jeonghan was most likely due back to the Orphanage some time ago.

The sound of a distant cry yanked Seungcheol’s attention from his wandering thoughts. It sounded like Jeonghan’s voice, he thought. He made his way out to the theatre where he last saw Jeonghan and spotted his small body lying in a heap on the stage. A small bubble of panic erupted somewhere inside him, but he tried not to let his mind run away with itself before he even knew what happened.  
“Jeonghan! Are you okay?” he called out as he jogged towards the younger boy.  
He sounded a soft groan in response.

When Seungcheol reached the stage he saw Jeonghan’s hand was clutching his left ankle.  
“What happened?”  
“Nothing, I just slipped it’s fine,” the boy dusted off his pants and was about to try to stand up only Seungcheol stopped him before he got a chance. He moved closer to Jeonghan despite the unresolved tension that lay between them. The boy shifted uncomfortably at his presence, but Seungcheol persisted nonetheless. Gently, he pushed up the leg of Jeonghan’s trousers to reveal a swollen ankle blossoming with angry purple bruises that had most definitely not just come to fruit today.  
“…how?” Seungcheol breathed, taken aback by the shocking sight.  
Jeonghan shoved his hand away before shoving the cloth back into place, covering his injury. “I told you I was fine,” he hissed. _fine,_ ” he hissed.  
Seungcheol shook his head with vigour. “No, you’re not fine at all, Jeonghan. Don’t move,” he ordered, “I’ll go get some ice.”

He ran as quickly and as carefully as he could to the kitchens, hoping he wouldn’t run into his dad on the way. The was no ice to be had within the old industrial freezer, but he figured a bag of frozen peas would do the job. He grabbed a stray cloth rag to wrap it in along with a couple of band-aids just in case, and by the time he returned the cloth was damp from the condensation on the outside of the bag. Sure enough, Jeonghan had chosen not to follow his directions and was instead sitting in the front row, his head only barely reaching the top of the theatre’s seats. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he thought it was cute, the way his feet didn’t quite reach the floor, but there were more pressing issues at hand, so he pushed the odd thought out of his mind.   
“I told you not to move,” he sighed, but his nagging was met with no response. He kneeled in front of where Jeonghan sat before taking his leg into his hands and resting it upon his knee. Anytime he saw people injured on TV, they were always made sit like that, with the damaged limb outstretched and propped up on something, so Seungcheol assumed it served some purpose. As he wrapped the frozen peas around his ankle Jeonghan winced.  
“Does it hurt?”  
The boy's eyes flicked to where Seungcheol’s hands came into contact with his skin. “It’s really cold,” he moaned.  
Seungcheol let out a small chuckle despite his worry, his eyes turning into little crescent shapes as he noticed the way Jeonghan frowned at his laughter.  
“How did you fall?”  
He knew that Jeonghan’s injured ankle was the result of something much more serious than just this fall, but there was no way Jeonghan was going to share that story with him, so the fall would have to do.  
“There was rosin on the stage, my feet just slipped.”  
“What’s ‘rosin’?”  
Jeonghan’s gaze stayed fixed on something in the distance, clearly uncomfortable speaking this much. “It’s this stuff you put on your bow. I don’t really know what it does,” he admitted, “but it comes off as this kinda powdery white stuff.”

Guilt overwhelmed Seungcheol as he connected the dots. It must have been rosin that he was about to sweep up when he got distracted by Jeonghan. To say he felt terrible would be an understatement.  
“Was it my fault?” he whispered.  
“…My ankle?”  
That hadn’t been what Seungcheol was referring to, and he began to realise his actions may have had more dire consequences that he initially thought. He felt sick, the nausea formed in his stomach but rose to the back of his throat in horrendous waves.

“I really am fine,” he sighed, removing his leg from its position on Seungcheol’s knee.   
They stayed like that for a few minutes, neither of them saying much but Seungcheol could see that the ghastly paleness of Jeonghan’s face was fading, replaced with a slightly more human colour—although Jeonghan was sickly by nature.

Only minutes later the boys heard loud, brash footsteps echo around the theatre. They were coming from the hallway, and sure enough, two silhouettes appeared in the doorway, the light from the hallway behind them masking their features in the dim theater. It was Seungcheol’s father, accompanied by that man Seungcheol always saw around Jeonghan. His clothes were as dreary as always; long black coat over a pair of cheap slacks and a corduroy jumper. The man wore leather gloves that were as black as his greasy ebony hair. Seungcheol breathed a sigh of relief as he thought about the position he and Jeonghan had been only minutes before they arrived. His knowledge of Jeonghan’s circumstances was limited, but even at that, Seungcheol was sure that it would do him no favours to be seen with someone nursing his wounds.  
“There you are boys,” Seungcheol’s father spoke, “I trust you have done a fine job cleaning up. Jeonghan, Mr Knightly is here to collect you.”

Instantly the boy sprung up, all but running to the man’s side, and Seungcheol couldn’t help but notice the pain in his eyes every time he stood on his left leg. He wished he could do something, anything to help Jeonghan but last time he tried he did more damage than good, so he knew it was futile.   
“So.” Mr Choi spoke up. “Jeonghan will be returning tomorrow and Sunday to fulfil his punishment, correct?”  
Mr Knightly wore a dreary grimace, but Jeonghan’s eyes glimmered. “Yes indeed. I shall drop him off at 5 pm.”

The old man’s chubby hand wrapped its way around Jeonghan’s bony arm before promptly turning on his heels, leaving as quickly as possible. Jeonghan limped along behind him, but just as Seungcheol was about to walk away Jeonghan turned back. He offered Seungcheol a small smile, and the boy’s cheek’s flushed as their eyes met.  
“ _I’ll see you tomorrow,_ ” Seungcheol mouthed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew! Chapter two is finally here! I'm really sorry it took so long, but this chapter was absolutely crucial to how the rest of the story will continue, so I didn't want to rush it. Be sure to let me know what you thought of this chapter!!
> 
> I'm partaking in Camp NaNoWriMo this month (04/17), so by the end of it, t there should be much more of this story written!
> 
> If any of you use Tumblr be sure to follow me there @fightmejeonghannie ! Don't be afraid to hmu ;D My main blog is @exosexual though, so I follow from there.
> 
> As always,
> 
> thanks for reading xxx


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